


The March of the Jotnar

by CaptainR0cket



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), F/M, Gen, Jotunn Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainR0cket/pseuds/CaptainR0cket
Summary: The people of Jotunheim join the fight against the Mad Titan and his forces.
Relationships: Angrboða | Angerboda & Loki (Norse Religion & Lore), Angrboða | Angerboda/Loki (Norse Religion & Lore)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another attempt to reconcile Loki's monstrous children with the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I keep imagining the extras of the cast of Vikings and the band Heilung showing up to unleash some chaos on Thanos and his army during the portal scene from Avengers: Endgame.
> 
> I don't think it's necessary to have read my other pieces before reading this, but it might help if you want to frontload a little oc development.

There was no question about it. When Angrboda crawled from her hold in the Iron Wood and marched the long, frozen steps to Utgard with her monstrous sons at her side, one listened.

When she stood before the throne of Utgard in eldritch glory and demanded a host of Frost Giants to march with her to Midgard, one acquiesced.

And when she asked to lead them through the glowing portal, in that forthright, broken voice of hers, Helblindi the Sightless, King of the Jotnar, bowed his head.

Laufey had led the first Jotnar host into Midgard. Laufey-King’s line had not died with him, nor with his sly son, Loki. Helblindi the Sightless had stepped forward to claim his birthright. It was, he considered, not the life for which he had hoped, as he stood, hand on his Second’s shoulder, with the dust of Midgard darkening his feet. 

Sightless, they called him, for the lack of intuition and drive that had left him crown-less for so long. Perhaps, on this day and on this field, under the flag of a Jotunheim united, he would earn a new name.

The host at their back was silent. They waited, eyes glowing in the torchlight, their attention trained on their king. None there had been alive to follow Laufey into Midgard centuries hence; this was a new generation, fighting under a new flag. Stone giants stood beside Frost giants, and the People of the Iron Wood took up arms and called the People of the Sea their brothers.

Angrboda stood beside him, waiting. Her son stood with her. Fenrir, the dread wolf of the Iron Wood, his fur as dense and as black as a night without stars, growled in expectation and snapped his fearsome jaws. The host muttered, uneasy, and shifted as a coiling, gliding length slid from the portal and into view - the sound of its scales, the prelude to an earthquake: cacophonous. Jormungandr, the World Serpent: hungry and huge and so very clever, coiled around the feet of his family. 

Loki’s children.

Helblindi was glad, as he eyed Angrboda and her sons, that they fought as allies.

The enemy was innumerable, stretching forth on land and in sky as far as the eye could see. Their allies were few but still coming, stepping through glowing portals that dotted the battlefield. A man stood at the center of the field, a Midgardian, bloodied and weary, eyes darting from portal to portal.

Helblindi knew his joy and his pain. The reappearance of those who had been lost was a joy so fresh that it had been only briefly tasted before taking up arms. His own Second, his shield-brother, had been returned to him, as had many others. They had appeared, blinking in the weak sunshine, and had stood amazed at the hollow eyes and pained expressions of those who had been left behind.

Trumpets sounded. His Second turned, and their eyes locked. “Asgardians,” Helblindi said, as they marched in gleaming ordered rows through a portal of their own, led by a Valkyrie.

This, if they lived to see the end of it, would be a story worth telling.

“Odin-son,” his Second stated, and jerked his chin toward the center of the field. The bane of Utgard stood beside the Midgardian. Helblindi shivered in delight.

Thor’s eyes raked over the company, searching. Angrboda sent a rune into the air, gleaming gold, and then reached out to trace it on the flank of the wolf, and the head of the snake. “The Thunderer fights another battle this day, Helblindi-king,” she grated, turning her black eyes to his. Her witch’s raiment shifted, so that she appeared to be clothed in never-ending movement. Copper bands circled the beams of the antlers she wore, and they altered with the movement of the energy around her - gleaming red one moment, sickly green the next. “Utgard is rebuilt and another enemy is before us. Take your frustration out on the Mad Titan.”

“Wise words, sister,” Helblindi spoke, and held up his hand. Ice spread along his forearm, thickening under the frost that blossomed there. He heard the clatter of shield and sword and the grinding of stone, and the air around them grew chill as his men armed themselves. The war drums began to beat, and Helblindi focused his eyes on the Midgardian captain.

The word came, and from it a crescendo of noise that shook Helblindi’s teeth in his jaw. He dropped his arm, and they descended upon the enemy.


	2. Chapter 2

The forces of Jotunheim were great, and the ground shook with the weight of their passing. Loki’s sons outpaced them all. They moved in harmony, the long legs of the wolf avoiding the muscled coils of the serpent. Of all the Jotnar they reached the enemy first, jaws snapping, and plowed a course through. Angrboda fell back, seeking her Iron Wood kin, and thrust forward in the aspect of a red she-wolf, flanked by a large pack of wolves. They sped forward in the wake of Fenrir and Jormungandr, tearing the throats out of the fallen as they went.

The field was a ruin, stretched out under a darkling sky. There were not many creatures who could withstand the frozen kiss of Helblindi’s blade, or the crushing strength of his hand. Fell creatures, who swarmed and fought and struggled with a single, unwavering will, were lost time and again to the force of Jotunheim. 

Still, the dreadful creatures came, running over one another in their haste to fall on his blade.

Helblindi fought with his kin at his back, and he laughed with dark joy as he ran another creature through. It twitched, insect-like, and stared up at the sky with bulbous, blank eyes.

“Sire, they are unending,” his Second gasped. His recent efforts on the field of battle had earned him a gash in one cheek. The wound pulsed under the frozen patch that had been hastily pressed in place. He nodded toward the horizon, where another swell of creatures flooded from the enormous wreckage of a fallen beast of burden. Jormungandr, his terrible kinsman, wrapped slowly around the creature, coils flexing and tightening as it thrashed weakly.

A youth pushed through the company, shaken and pale-faced. He was one of Helblindi's drummers, little more than a child. His drum hung, heavy and silent, over his shoulder.

“Where is your company?” Helblindi asked, as the boy knelt before him.

“Fallen, sire,” the boy answered, eyes wide as he watched the horizon. The creatures swarmed and pressed forward, quickly covering the distance between them.

Helblindi turned, and could see Angrboda and her kin working together to bring down a horde of the creatures as Fenrir battled at the center with an enormous, long-armed beast. He looked behind him at the weary and battle-worn Jotnar. Hunters, farmers, fishermen: warriors all.

“People of Jotunheim,” he bellowed, and stooped to lift up the drummer. “Take up your shield for kith and kin. Let not this disease spread to our realm. Leave none alive.”

The little drummer swayed, and Helblindi hoisted him up and onto his shoulder. Sword struck shield and, as the beat was taken up, feet began to tamp the ground in a strident rhythm. 

Helblindi laughed, and turned to meet the enemy once again.

It was ever after spoken as, over tankards of ale and at roaring fire-side, the surprise of Helblindi’s life when his enemy crumbled into nothingness before him. He turned, panicked, seeking his Second, heart filling in equal measure with dread and hope as he waited for the change to happen, for form to crumble and blow away.

It was a long moment before he allowed himself to reach out and gather his friend close, ears ringing with the joyous cries of the victorious company and the shouts of the drummer boy, perched high on his shoulder.

Battle-worn and weary though they were, long hours passed before Helblindi sat and allowed his wounds to be tended. He would not leave a Jotunn soul in that place; all must be counted and counted again. A Stone giant sang quietly as she waited, and her kind picked up the song. It echoed over the smoky battlefield, twining over the wreckage and the unhearing dead. 

“The Thunderer approaches,” his Second murmured, from where he sat, cleaning his blade. Helblindi rose.

Thor was no longer the golden and smiling youth who had long ago struck out at Utgard and tempted Laufey with war. This man was grim, and weary, and stained with battle. _His brother’s brother_. “What kind of man are you?” Helblindi wondered aloud, as he looked down at the Asgardian.

The Thunderer’s voice was deep. “I am a man who has much to atone for, Helblindi-King,” he replied solemnly. “We could not have won the day without you.”

Helblindi smiled. “We did not do it for the love of Asgard,” he said. He looked at Thor with a narrowed eye. “But you may find in the future that we are a little less… cold.”

Thor blinked, startled, and then let out a great bellowing laugh. “Understood,” he said, and held out his arm. Helblindi took it briefly, and then nodded over Thor’s head.

“The lady Angrboda approaches,” he said. “Her sons are beyond her, there, in the wreckage of that craft.” From where they stood he could see Fenrir nosing among the debris and Jormungandr, looking positively gorged, sunning himself in the rays of light that struggled to break through the gloom.

“Thor, King of Asgard,” Angrboda said. Something passed between them, some unspoken grief, and Angrboda turned away to look at her children. “They can not give you absolution, Thunderer.”

Thor spoke urgently. “I do not ask it of them, lady.”

She smiled slightly, and her black eyes gleamed. “Come, then, and meet the sons of the man you called brother.”

Helblindi watched as they crossed the field together. They were of a height, but he was broad where she was narrow, and the weight of her crown of antlers did not cause her to stoop or falter.

The wolf and the snake shivered in concert, and stepped forward wearing the aspects of young men. The elder was powerfully built, tall and broad-shouldered, and the younger was straight-backed and slim. They favored their Iron Wood heritage in their height, but wore the skin and markings of Laufey’s line. _His_ line.

Thor’s steps faltered, and he stumbled.

Helblindi turned away.

The last of the Jotnar forces were moving through their portal by the time Angrboda returned. She nodded at Helblindi as she passed. Her sons followed, shifting aspects as they approached the portal. The wolf looked straight ahead, green eyes unwavering. The snake paused and fixed Helblindi with a red eye, its long tongue darting out to taste the air.

The King of Jotunheim managed not to tremble. “Nephew,” he said quietly, and the snake turned its monstrous head and pressed on, the light of the portal sparking against its black scales.

His Second approached. “The men have a new name for you,” he said, as Helblindi turned to gaze out at the battlefield. 

“Sightless no more, am I?”

“They are calling you One-Armed Helblindi, the Broad-Shouldered King, who fought the hordes of darkness with a drummer boy on his shoulders.”

“It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?” Helblindi said, and clapped his friend on the back.

“Give them time, sire,” his Second said, as they stepped through the portal together. “Give them time.”

A cool wind stirred the dust of the battlefield, blowing it over the tall form of a man who perched, unseen, on the wreckage. Pale, untroubled light, grown green in the gloom, shone against vambrace and helm. He watched as the portal closed. The wind blew a cloud over the sun and he was gone, moving fast, headed for destinations unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
